Underdoll
by DiamondGamer
Summary: Doll AU! Frisk has never relied on toys for dark days and scary nights - but when she purchases an old, charming rag doll, strange events ensue that make her aware just how necessary it is for her to cling to her childhood. (Female Frisk. Multichapter.)
1. Chapter 1

Frisk hates birthdays.

It reminds her just how little she gets to say in the matter about the _one_ special day that she's supposed to use to her desires, but there's never any fun in it. Her parents assume and act until it's nighttime and the magic's all gone, and the year goes on like usual. She knows it will be no different today, and curls up in the velvety material of her blankets, clinging to its warmth as she hears the faint creaking of the door. Footsteps follow, followed by whispers and giggling, and Frisk holds still, playing pretend she's in deep slumber and thus not to be bothered.

She breathes steadily, moving to face the other side for a change of position. More giggling ensues, her parents talking softly, a little too loudly for her liking but not loud enough that it would wake her from actual sleep had she been in one. Then the shutters are lifted, and Frisk crinkles her face as light hits it.

"See, she's awake!" A female voice rings, and Frisk grunts sleepily in annoyance, shoving her head under the pillow. "Wakey wakey, birthday girl. Get up, we're having a feast for today's breakfast, just about the best for you! Now, come on, you know it's getting annoying by now. Don't want to make mommy angry, yes?"

She reluctantly crawls off the blankets, falling onto the floor with a thud.

"That's not a birthday attitude," Her moms says irritably, placing her hands on her hips. "Don't waste my time, you hear me?"

They all climb down the stairs, with Frisk trying to block out the merry chatter between the other two as she descends. Her body is still warm from the excess time spent in bed, and she's a little overwhelmed as she approaches the table. A round, fancy cake is placed in the middle, with big, creamy letters of 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY FIONA' written over it, while the rest of the content of the table is familiar dishes of carefully arranged sandwiches, cornflakes, at least three types of juice - while Frisk is a voracious eater in the mornings, she reels back, tearing her eyes away.

Her dad urges her to sit down, and she does, keeping her head lowered down.

"Don't be embarrassed. You'll be the star of the day, after all," He reassures her unhelpfully, and she hunches over more. "What's the matter, Fi?"

"Have you..." She whispers, sliding down a little. "Have you-"

This gets the attention of her mother, who eyes her skeptically. "Speak up, girl, and do it confidently."

 _Have you ever thought of asking me what I want?_ Her mind screams, _Maybe I don't want this to be a big deal at all._

"Nothing, sorry." She replies in a merry fashion, sitting up in the chair. "I'm overwhelmed is all. It's not every day that it's my birthday!"

It's not worth the risk.

* * *

It's exhausting.

She meets and talks to more people than she wants to, smiling and grinning and bouncing in faked excitement until they go away. Some stay for longer than necessary, some are equally uncomfortable about having to be faced with Frisk like she with them, others she genuinely hopes to spend her time with; and they all leave, Frisk's head pounding and begging her not to engage in further interaction as if she could help it.

Frisk attends a restaurant, windowshops, and reluctantly follows her mother in stores they already pay frequent visits to. Her dad is equally cheerful, trying to engage in a conversation, and Frisk keeps it short like always, hoping to be left out of it. Sometimes she is, sometimes she isn't. She is no longer sure where they're headed to, and drags along, eyes searching for any indication that it's getting dark. Summer days are painfully long.

At some point, her mother dons a familiar grin on her face, and Frisk knows where they're going.

Her mother loves dolls.

Porcelain little pretties, sitting on shelves, their gazes docile and looking right through you. Some had golden curls, little caps over their sunny heads, eyes of the colours of the skies, or sometimes of chocolate, or sometimes of greenery; some had light brown ponytails, some fiery red braids. Frisk has a growing collection of them, pretending not to have a distaste for the way they stared at her at night as if they were going to gouge her own eyes out.

They enter the shop, Frisk flinching slightly at the way the bells jingled at every customer's entry. One thing she likes about the shop is the owner, a bald, fat man with an eternal, genuine grin who plays along to every child's game and gives the dolls life and character. He greets her mother warmly, shakes her father's hand, and smiles sweetly at Frisk. "So, what will this year's birthday pick be, soldier?"

She shrugs nonchalantly.

"We've expanded our collection - there's the victorian girlies, they're a real hit! We've got boys, too-"

"Fiona wouldn't like a boy doll," Her mother interrupts, a little uncomfortably. Frisk turns her head at her and sticks out her tongue while she isn't looking. "Oh, that one's so cute! Sugar, what do you say we get this one? She has your eyes, see?"

"Let her pick for herself," The owner laughs pleasantly, gesturing to the shelves. "Come on, soldier, take your pick. We've got plenty and they all seek a new home."

Frisk can't see a resemblance between her and the doll her mother pointed out. She ambles around the shop, regarding some of the girls, as if in deep thought about her pick. Some shelves are too high to reach, and she doesn't bother with them, reaching out for a doll at random instead.

Until she feels a different set of eyes pierce through her.

She looks up, her gaze meeting a rag doll that stands out uncomfortably from the others, stitches uneven and its hair limp and brown. There are black buttons, although both a different shape, in place of her eyes, and a shabbily sewn little blue dress on her. It's on one of the higher shelves, and Frisk bounces up towards it.

"Oh, you want this little girlie?" The owner muses, surprise in his tone, and approaches the shelf, picking it up. "We got her a while ago as a donation, even though we don't typically accept them. She looked so sad I just had to have her here."

"I'm not paying for this shabby little thing." Her mother snaps, causing even Frisk's father to flinch. "Why don't you pick something prettier, hm? It's your birthday, after all, and I'm getting the best for you here."

Frisk picks up the doll, looking it over in curiousity, and suddenly knows her choice.

"I want this one." She says firmly, holding it close to her chest.

"Oh, for heaven's sake-"

"Well, I'm not selling it because it's not a part of my business, so how would you like to have her for free, hm?" Frisk also decides she loves this man. "She's a charming little thing once you get to know her. Shabby, yes, but looks doesn't dictate personality, right, Mrs. Buchanan?"

He means it well, but she glares daggers through him. "Alright. _I'm_ gonna get myself a treat from here, if that's her choice."

She means it maliciously, but Frisk has not felt happier about a birthday gift.

* * *

Her mom doesn't speak to her for the remainder of the day, and it's her father that comes around to kiss her goodnight and offer to read her a story. Frisk declines, then spends a few minutes awake, wondering whether it was normal for families to be that demanding. Her dad is an exception - a relatively soft man, but Frisk wishes they were worlds apart anyway, solely because he doesn't dare contradict his wife. She wishes _she_ was worlds apart from herself, too, for the same reason.

Frisk tosses and turns in her bed, fearing the dark. Dolls from previous years are lined up on her shelves, and she dreads their very presence.

 _She's so ugly!_ Someone giggles.

 _How embarrassing_. Someone hisses.

 _I don't want to be here_ , Someone whines.

 _We should go get her_ , Someone offers.

Frisk places her hands over her ears, her body shaking. Tiny little whispers echo all around the room, and she can't block them out; she tries not to cry, burrowing herself further under the sheets and pillows, wishing it was just a nightmare. Maybe if she repeats it to herself for long enough, it would turn out to be true. Hopefully, possibly, unlikely. It's not going away.

She hears hollow little taps on the floor, then a faint tug at her sheets. She freezes, then mutters under her breath, "Please don't. I don't need this, I don't need this, I don't need this, I don't need this..."

She chants it until it's audible, and there's another weak tug.

"Hey, I'm not gonna harm you." A voice whispers back gently, "Look at me. You'll be okay. You won't get hurt."

Soothed by the sincerity of the voice, Frisk lifts up her sheets, peering cautiously at a small figure in the dark. It's none of the scary toys of porcelain, and she's relieved, but understandably confused about their sentience. The speaker smiles, offering a clothed hand. "Come with me. Don't be afraid, nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Frisk reluctantly climbs out of her bed, towering over the rag doll as she watches her every movement in a wary fashion. The doll walks off, motioning Frisk to follow, and she does, keeping distance between them. It's dark, and she nearly stumbles upon some of her objects until they finally leave the room.

This is not her house.

She walks through dark corridors, following the strange entity as it descends down and up stairs, walks through doors she doesn't recognize, and Frisk makes a point not to turn away. For the first time in her life, she wishes she was in her parents' room, at least being comforted by safety and predictability; Eventually, they stop in a dark, wide room with a single light source from above in the fashion of a spotlight, where the doll urges her to move to. It illuminates them both as they settle.

"I'm really sorry about the girls," She sighs, looking up at Frisk with beady eyes. "They can be awfully mean sometimes. But trust me, they won't lay a single finger upon you, even if they want to. They're required by law not to. My, my, you have so many of them!"

Frisk stares back, then averts her gaze anxiously. "This is a weeeeeeeird dream. What's going on? Are you going to kill me?"

The doll falls silent for a moment in consideration, then bursts into laughter. "No, of course not, I'm not gonna kill you! In fact, I'm doing just the opposite, okay? I'm here to offer my protection." She hums gently, smiling again. "Human... it's Fiona, isn't it?"

"Frisk," She corrects her in annoyance.

"Frisk, yes. My apologies, I am not good at remembering names. We, as dolls, exist to offer protection. Not everyone qualifies for it, and I'll get to that later, but you're a very self-aware girl, aren't you? You see things that shouldn't be seen by normal eyes - in fact, shouldn't be seen at all."

Frisk swallows, expression alert.

"You have nightmares, don't you? Creatures that prey on your mind and tear you to bits and pieces."

She chokes back a sob, but doesn't turn her head away.

"You're not the only one. There are many like you," The doll continues sternly. "and what you see, if it goes on for too long, you're done for. I have a lot to tell you, but it is not the time. I want to offer you a contract. I will protect you, and you will protect me in return. We will act together, as a team, we will be friends and we will be teammates, we will be equal. Nobody else in your room will offer you that, Frisk. I need you to trust me."

Frisk sits down, silently basking in the light. It's bright, and she gazes upon the doll's expectant face. It seems too surreal to be a dream, but she acknowledges the sleepless nights and knows she wants them gone. "Okay. I trust you."

"Hold my hand and say it again. Say 'I trust you'. That's how we seal the contract."

She reaches out slowly, taking hold of the doll's limp hand. " _I trust you._ "

Her own hand feels warm and looks like it's glowing. The doll shows no indication of wanting to tear it away. "Grant me with a name."

Frisk squints, observing the doll's features, and finds herself amongst everything. "Um... you'll be... mini Frisk."

Her hand ceases its glow. She pulls it away, inspecting it cautiously, but finds no change to it. The doll laughs gently and sits down with Frisk, a contented expression on her face. "We ARE quite alike, aren't we?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi! Thank you for reading - I'm just here to note that most characters will be humanized and thus their names will have a change, so if you're confused about any of them, send me an ask. Happy Holidays!_

* * *

Frisk has a dreamless sleep - a rarity.

She awakens to a rude interruption of her precious sleep in the form of alarm beeping, and consequently reaches out to slam the device. She rolls in the bed for a few minutes, stretching out and yawning sleepily, then sits up. Whatever that was from last night was certainly weird, and she's still a little dazzled, but appreciates the lack of entities disrupting her slumber at night.

And then there's a giggle.

Oh no.

"Pathetic. And to think we have to deal with this eeeevery day," Frisk turns her head to one of the porcelain dolls - a perk and pretty blonde, crossing her feet and chattering to another situated right next to her. "We can't even look pretty for people, and we have to do with this wimpy girl?"

" _Hey!_ "

Frisk angrily tosses her sheets onto the floor, huffing at the doll for her impertinence. The doll, on the other hand, turns to peer at Frisk in mild surprise, then cackles maliciously. "Aww, baby girl stands up already? And you were sob-sob-sobbing last night, boo boo, boo hoo," She coos, much to Frisk's chagrin. "and I see you've made a contract. Fa-sci-nating. It must be some very misguided doll. Or weak. Ooh, I wonder who could that be. Wait, I know..."

"Don't listen to her."

Frisk cannot believe she's relieved to hear the voice of a sentient inanimate object. Mini Frisk truts into view, sticking out her tongue at the porcelain doll and making a "hmph" sound. "Vain little pricks, aren't they? Don't waste your time with them, Fi- Frisk. You're gonna be late for school!"

"I'm homeschooled."

"Not anymore!" Mini Frisk replies merrily, twirling around. Frisk raises an eyebrow in confusion, but says nothing. "See, there's one itsy bitsy thing I forgot to mention when we did the contract last night... I mean, we didn't have time, but I'm sorry about that. You and I, we have to receive tutoring. Don't worry about it, though, you'll find many friends and there are many nice teachers-"

"Hold your horses," Frisk interrupts, eyeing her warily. "Just. Hold your horses for a minute. _What?_ "

Mini Frisk looks upon her apologetically, then hauls herself up on the bed. Chatter between other dolls resumes, now a little more hushed but still audible. "You, as an unofficial doll owner, need training, and I need it as a guardian. I've arranged a meeting between you and the principal - she's really nice, okay? Just be honest with her and look her in the eye while you speak. Ooh, I'm so excited-!"

In return, Frisk crawls under the covers again, chanting a mantra of 'This can't be real'. She is aware her mother was to enter in no more than a few minutes - or perhaps this was just another mini dream, in between, and she would awaken again, with no speaking dolls and an entirely different, _normal_ disruption. She huffs, lifting them up again - irritatingly, to the annoyed face of Mini Frisk.

"We need to go _now_ ," She hisses, and Frisk heaves a sigh.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming! What about my parents-?"

"Forget your parents. They won't see us go, but we need to leave quickly. Get up."

Frisk obeys, and darkness suddenly envelops the room again, like last night; both rush out of the room, into the still unfamiliar corridors of black, and Frisk feels energy surging through her body. She doesn't know where they're running, just sees little lights line up and light up on the walls, and Frisk notices she has stepped upon what seems to be cobblestone. More little lights line up in a random direction upwards, littering the ceiling - is it a ceiling?

It illuminates the place, and suddenly Frisk sees no walls, but rather lamplights placed by a cobblestone path, starry skies, bus stops and buildings in the distance. Frisk stares in admiration, soaking in the details, and slows down her pace. She hears chirping, she hears wind, she hears distant laughter. Mini Frisk crawls up on her and seats herself at her shoulder, and the two move on. It's a relatively silent night; Frisk is only confused about the sudden shift of brightness to dark colours and lights everywhere, but does not question it.

Frisk spots a figure in the distance, standing by one of the lamplights.

"Go on," Mini Frisk urges her, smiling. "He's waiting."

She approaches, reluctantly, slowing down her brisk pace even more in the process. It's not a familiar face, but it grins at her anyway, as if it's a first-time meeting between old friends. A jacket of light blue shapes their body, and bright eyes of a similar colour fix upon Frisk. "You're the newbie, aren'tcha? They call me Sans. I'm here to guide ya. You might not see me for a while, but I'll be around."

"Frisk," She replies, outstretching a hand to shake. "Um, I'm, uh, I'm really confused."

Sans shakes it firmly, giving her a curt nod. "Yes, of course you are. Anyone bestowed with such a great opportunity would be confused. You got your own guardian, right there, for LIFE. Or, at least until it's damaged beyond repair." He leans in, giving Mini Frisk a poke. "Hm. A rag. You qualify for sewing lessons, too. Nice. You'll need the skill for many more things than you can imagine. It won't be a fun task."

He ambles forward, and Frisk follows, seeing the distant lights and buildings dissolve into the darkness. Instead, the cobblestone path lights up, and Sans hums an unfamiliar tune as they walk.

"So, what's your doll's name, then?"

"Uh..."

"Mini Frisk!" The doll chimes in cheerfully, "I'd say we're similar, don't you think?"

Frisk blushes a bright red, huffing. "It's so stupid."

"I've heard worse," Sans hums. "One of the kiddos named their doll, "Doll". It's not that uncommon for one to name their doll after themselves, anyway. Don't stress over it. Give it a few months and nobody will care."

Frisk stares, as if she hasn't heard correctly, but Sans doesn't correct himself. She blinks. "Months?"

"Kid, this is full-time education we're talking about. Don't worry about family: you'll be able to write whenever you want, whatever you want. There's no return address, however, so they won't be able to write back. You can be completely honest, vague, twist a frightening tale to prank them, say nothing at all. Whatever suits you best."

She briefly and very seriously considers concocting a twisted lie to scare them, but shakes it off, falling silent as they move. Lights reappear in the darkness, and so does a very large, white building in the end of the path, surrounded by a gate - numerous square windows and entrances grace it, almost intimidatingly. Most windows are bright, indicating some form of life, and Frisk knows it's their destination.

Sans approaches the entrance, pressing a button and stepping back as something loud rings for a few long moments, then fades. Frisk peers at the grass behind the entrance and finds many yellow flowers lined up in a strangely straight fashion, and attempts to look beyond, but finds nothing but her own uncertainty. Mini Frisk shifts uncomfortably. "Can you not lean over?" She whispers, "I don't want to fall."

The gate entrance opens, slowly, and Sans steps in just as soon as there's enough space for him to squeeze through. Frisk waits until it's fully open, and even then stands by in fascination until Sans motions her to follow. A different figure, still enveloped in darkness, exits through one of the doors and approaches with a brisk pace. Frisk stares past it into the distance, expression alert, as if there's something that might be-

"I apologize for the delay." It's a female voice, gentle and soothing, but with a stern, authoritative edge to it. Frisk peers at her curiously; she looks middle-aged at best, donning a violet robe with a swirly design, hair reaching past her shoulders. She smiles at Frisk in a motherly fashion and places a hand on her unoccupied shoulder. "I'm Victoria Lambert, principal and your teacher. Honored to have such a bright-looking student join us."

Sans snickers, "She's being all fancy again, for a woman that signs official documents with 'Tori L.'"

The woman pauses, glancing over at Sans as if she had just noticed his presence. "Stephen. Nice to see you." There's annoyance to her tone, and she doesn't try to mask it. "Thank you for escorting our new students here. You're not obliged to be here, though, you know that, right?"

"Oh, come on, you know you like me around," He laughs, "Alright, alright, I'm going. See you around, Tori." Just like that, he walks off, disappearing into the distance before Frisk even notices he's left. The woman smiles gently for a moment, mouthing a goodbye, and then turns to Frisk. "Well, it's inappropriate to talk right here. If you stand for outside for long enough, it gets cold." She whisks the child inside.

Frisk notices a lot more detail to the corridors than to the entire town - walls of many colours, some professionally painted while others resemble childish scribbles, linoleum floors and doors of curious wooden material. It's brightly lit, and faint laughter and chatter can be heard from behind some of the doors - Mini Frisk kicks her legs merrily, watching both the teacher and the child as they walk, tour the place and try to make small, idle chatter to fill the silence. At a point, Frisk pauses in front of a door and presses a palm upon it, furrowing her brows.

The teacher stops and backtracks upon noticing she isn't being followed. "What interests you, young one?"

Frisk points at a small paper sign glued onto the door that says 'SINGING ROOM' with a quick 'FORMER' scribbled by it. "Oh, that. Some of our students here are incredibly anxious and easily stressed out, so we'd take them here either to be sung to or encourage them to sing - it soothes some. It's... very good for the soul." A small frown graces her face. "We're never going in there again. There's a new room for that. It's so curious that you happened upon it, though. Let's go - we have very little time to waste."

"Uh, I really ought to get home, miss."

She doesn't react at first, walking forward with the same confident pace. "Well, I'm not trying to keep you prisoner, and if you truly desire to go home, I'll show you the way. But, child, this is a normal procedure for every new student. Parents are easily scared and not very superstitious, so if I were to let you go, you likely wouldn't be allowed to come back. You can write to them, and it's your choice what to say, but it's preferable that you stay. This will be very important education for you."

Frisk considers it for a moment - the events that have occurred so recently are rushed, and she doesn't know how to feel about it. On the other hand, going home is only for necessity - she doesn't want to return to those two on the same, everyday routine. She does not question further, and steps in a small room with the woman, who seats herself at the desk and urges her to sit on the other side. It's a fairly normal looking office - a clock ticking irritatingly, plain gray wallpaper, green plants in the corner of the rooms and a pleasant odour of perfume that Frisk finds just a little sickening.

"I'm sure this must be a major change for you."

Frisk nods, and mini Frisk jumps off the shoulder, curtsying clumsily. "She seems to be taking it quite well, miss. Didn't hesitate once!" That is an exaggeration and all of them know it, but the teacher nods approvingly anyway. "Thank you for having us. I'm so excited to start-"

"Hold it, doll." She interrupts, clearing her throat. "I'm not finished. What's your name, little one?"

"...Frisk." The child gestures to her doll, "And this is, uh, Frisk, too. Mini Frisk. Can I please change this name?"

"A name is permanent, I'm afraid. You're soulbound now. Well. Frisk... are you aware of what a guardian will offer protection against?"

"Nightmares?" Frisk offers quietly.

"That's only a part of it. You're only young, and thus most likely to be vulnerable to the dangers of your world. I'm not going to lie to you - there is evil in this world that goes beyond a child's fears. It can and it will damage you at this state if you aren't prepared for it." Her voice lowers down to a whisper. "The school offers a normal curriculum of subjects, too, so you'll be just fine."

Frisk suppresses a groan. "What's the school's name, anyway?"

"St. Temmie's."

Mini Frisk bursts into laughter, and both Frisk and the woman turn to look at her questioningly. "No way! You've dedicated it to a TEMMIE?"

"Temmies have been very important benefactors, doll," The woman replies sternly, and Frisk peers at her in search of an answer to an unsaid question, but does not receive it. "Our students are good and welcoming. You'll learn everything you know along the way. My son, Asriel, should be able to guide you well - he's a good boy, and HIS doll.. um... why don't we get to the point."

She leans over, offering a hand. "Little Frisk, I officially welcome you to St. Temmie's, and wish you a good year of learning."

Frisk stares at the hand, gaze flickering back to her excited rag doll, then to Mrs. L's kind-looking face. She still doesn't understand how this came from a simple birthday present, a subtle act of defiance, but offers her hand, too, and shakes the other's determinedly.


End file.
